


A Figment of Imagination

by thatkategirl82



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Baxley, Baxter-centric, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:27:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26351155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatkategirl82/pseuds/thatkategirl82
Summary: After a terrible accident, Molesley ends up in the hospital fighting for his life. While Baxter struggles with the guilt of the accident and the pain of missing her closest friend, she also starts to fear she's losing her mind. If Molesley is unconscious in the hospital, why is it that she keeps seeing him around Downton - especially when no one else can? Post-movie.
Relationships: Phyllis Baxter & Cora Crawley, Phyllis Baxter/Joseph Molesley, Thomas Barrow & Phyllis Baxter
Comments: 11
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all! I'm a newcomer to the Downton fandom and have fallen DEEP down the Baxley rabbit hole. These days it takes an awful lot to inspire me to write because I've sadly fallen out of practice with it, but a certain Phyllis Baxter and Joseph Molesley have proven to be perfect inspiration. This story is almost completely written and should be about 10 chapters total. Updates should be fast since I mostly just have to proofread. Setting is post-movie. I'm kind of nervous about my first foray into Baxley-fiction, so please let me know if I'm doing these incredible characters justice. This is also my first post on AO3 so please let me know if I've terribly screwed up the tagging system. :)
> 
> Enjoy chapter 1!

The hum of her sewing machine was soothing.

There was something about the repetitive motion of fixing the seam on one of Her Ladyship’s silky, emerald dresses that could fill Phyllis Baxter with a sense of peace unlike any other. The dress was beautiful; it was adorned with tiny pearls around the sleeves, most of which Baxter had spent the better part of an hour reattaching or reinforcing before she started on the seam. The work was specific and required her full attention. One wrong move, and she’d have to start all over again.

But she didn’t mind. The work was easy enough for her and it had the added bonus of keeping her mind occupied. By training her eyes on the silky dress and the sewing machine, her thoughts quieted. It was easy to avoid thinking about the accident, about her friend, and about how badly her heart ached because of it all.

It had been exactly two weeks since Joseph Molesley had taken a terrible tumble down the steps and cracked the back of his head at the bottom. Baxter had witnessed the fall – in fact, she was almost positive she had been the cause of it. The two of them had been exchanging a joke, him from the top of the stairs with his silver tray and her at the bottom with a dress draped over her arm. Thomas had come running down the stairs in a hurry to get something that had been forgotten for the family’s dinner and Molesley had taken a step back without looking. He was looking at her.

Not realizing how close he was to the edge of the top step he’d lost his footing and went tumbling backwards sending the silver tray flying into the air. It all had happened so fast that he was soon lying in a crumple on the floor at the bottom of the steps, right at Baxter’s feet, with a pool of crimson blood quickly pouring from the back of his skull.

Everything after that had happened in a flurry that Baxter couldn’t quite comprehend. She remembered trying to get to Molesley and being pulled back and pushed away as the footman was lifted and carried swiftly out of the house. There was a noise, too, a shrill high-pitched wail that Baxter didn’t realize until much later had been the sound of her screaming. Molesley was rushed to the hospital and Dr. Clarkson, where he’d been – mercifully still alive, but barely – for fourteen days.

Since then, Baxter had walked to the hospital at her every opportunity but had yet to step inside. She couldn’t bear the thought of Molesley lying there, broken and unconscious. Thinking of someone she cared for so strongly in a situation that they may never wake up from made her queasy.

A tremor ran through her hands and she sighed, turning her sewing machine off and placing the half-finished garment into the basket beside her. It was late and if she wasn’t going to risk adding more work to her to-do list by messing up the stitching she was working on, she’d best stop for the night. She set about cleaning up tools and when she placed the last spool of thread into her basket, she let her eyes drift closed for just a moment.

The servant’s hall was completely empty, most of the others having retired hours earlier. The silence felt almost too loud without the gentle hum of her sewing machine to break it, but she didn’t quite mind. Baxter felt as though she hadn’t truly rested since the accident. The heavy weight of exhaustion pressed down on her shoulders and she allowed her body to sink back into her chair, just for a moment. All she wanted to do was sleep.

But how was she to rest, to go on with her normal routine without being affected, when her friend’s life was hanging in the balance?

When it was her fault?

“Evening, Miss Baxter.”

The voice shocked Baxter out of her spiraling thoughts and she jumped, eyes snapping open to see Thomas sitting down wearily in one of the chairs next to the fire.

“Having a nap, are you?” He smiled, teasing her gently.

He pulled out a cigarette and lit it swiftly, raising it to his lips for a drag. Baxter watched his actions and then returned his smile with a gentle one of her own. There was no wickedness present in him anymore – especially towards her. There was just friendship now; conversations full of trust and smiles full of warmth. Baxter would be forever grateful for the decent man Thomas had become.

“Just resting my eyes for a moment, Mr. Barrow,” She replied. “I didn’t realize how late it was.”

“You and I both,” He murmured, taking another drag from his cigarette and looking into the fire. “You’d think we’d both be dead on our feet after all the excitement around here lately.”

He was right. The Christmas holidays were approaching within the month and Lady Grantham had decided to throw a dinner and ball like no other. It was to be the biggest dinner Downton held since the King and Queen visited earlier in the year, and the staff was stretched very thin with the preparations. Much to Thomas’ dismay, Lady Mary had suggested Mr. Carson come back to manage the whole event – but Lady Grantham had not yet decided.

Her Lady had been atwitter with chatter about her plans for both the dinner and the ball, including the multiple meetings she’d already held with Mrs. Patmore to go over the menu. Baxter was happy to listen to her talk about the goings on night after night while she helped her dress and undress. The Old Lady Grantham had taken very ill as of late, and Baxter knew this celebration was being thrown in her honor – Her Ladyship wanted the Dowager to have a proper celebration for what very well may be her last Christmas.

“The times are certainly changing,” Baxter agreed, thinking back to the days when a house like this would employ at least three times the amount of servants. “This may be one of the last extravagant balls to happen at Downton.”

Thomas hummed his agreement and flicked his cigarette in the fire. “Have you been to see Molesley lately?”

A hard lump formed in her throat, the question catching her completely off guard. Thomas noticed that she’d stiffened and swept his eyes over her, his eyebrows pulling together.

“Just thinking how much easier it will all go with another footman,” He explained. “And I know you’ve been walking to the hospital every chance you get. Was just curious if there was any update on his condition, is all.”

Baxter stood up, then, and pushed her chair in. She hooked the basket of Her Ladyship’s clothes over her arm and reached for her sewing machine while she swallowed the lump in her throat.

“I haven’t, not lately,” She answered, avoiding his gaze. “I’m sorry I’ve no news to report. Anyway, it is late, Mr. Barrow, so I think it’s time for me to go up.”

She was almost out the door when his voice stopped her.

“It wasn’t your fault, Miss Baxter, what happened to him. It was an accident. The bloke tripped and that wasn’t your fault or mine.”

She clutched the sewing machine tighter to her chest while her vision blurred with unshed tears.

“Goodnight, Mr. Barrow.”


	2. Chapter 2

Baxter felt strongly that she was in the midst of some sort of mental breakdown.

It had been a whirlwind of a week as Anna had caught the flu. She was home sick, so Baxter was seeing to Lady Mary as well as Her Ladyship. She wasn't put off by the extra work at first, but Lady Mary had started requesting extra cleaning on all of her boots and ball gowns – of which there were _a lot_. She'd explained to Baxter that she wasn't sure what to wear for the dinner and ball her mother was organizing, so she wanted all of her favorite things cleaned and organized for her to choose from. Since the ball was such a big deal to her mother, Lady Mary wanted to choose her outfit herself instead of trusting Anna or Baxter to do so - but Lady Mary was, unfortunately, indecisive. 

It turned out that Lady Mary also had a lot of favorite things. Namely, all of them.

So, Baxter had spent most of the week with her attention focused on Lady Mary's needs. That, of course, is when Her Ladyship decided that she'd like all of her finest dresses spruced up for the same reason. She was overwhelmed, Baxter could admit, but she'd been overwhelmed before. It was a sort of stress that she thrived on, and she was one to work very well under pressure. She was sure this time would be no different from any other, and then she saw him.

She'd just dropped an armful of Lady Mary's clothing onto the table in the servant's hall next to her sewing machine when she glanced up and saw him sitting in the corner, smiling at her. He raised one hand in a wave.

Baxter's jaw fell open in surprise but when she blinked, he was gone.

She'd blamed it on her overexertion and exhaustion. Sleep hadn't been coming easily ever since his accident. It felt like every time she closed her eyes her mind betrayed her - replaying the incident over and over again. That, combined with all of the extra work, was no doubt why she thought she'd seen him. She had all but convinced herself that it was a trick of the lighting when she saw him again, the next day at breakfast, suddenly appearing next to her in his usual seat.

Her fork had fallen from her hand and clattered on her plate, and her gasp was so loud that all eyes turned to her. Molesley gave her a smile, then he was gone. She had whipped her head around, desperate to catch him standing in a corner playing a cruel joke on her – but he was not there.

"Everything alright, Miss Baxter?" Thomas had asked, watching her with curiosity and what could only be described as concern.

She'd mumbled through a few half-hearted excuses and then fled the hall, desperate to step outside and get some air. Forgoing a coat, she rushed out into the icy December morning and squealed when her foot hit a patch of ice and flew out from under her. Arms flailing in the air, Baxter fell hard onto her rump. It probably would've been a comical sight if she wasn't so tired, and stressed, and frustrated.

Instead of laughing, she burst into tears.

She was sitting in the same spot minutes later when she heard the crunch of the cold snow as someone approached. Wiping furiously at her cheeks, Baxter forced herself back up to her feet – slipping a bit in the process. Her frustrated tears were turning into angry ones at how everything seemed to be stacked against her all at once, and she rounded on whoever dared approach her in such a humiliating situation.

Joseph Molesley looked at her with yet another small smile, and Baxter promptly fainted.

* * *

_Tap tap tap tap_

"Ugh," Baxter moaned and buried her head deeper into the warm, soft pillow. Whatever that noise was, she was not going to acknowledge it. If she ignored it, maybe it would go away.

_Tap tap tap tap_

Baxter's forehead crinkled and she let out another low groan.

_TAP TAP TAP TAP_

Baxter's eyes popped open at once to the extra loud knocking, which ceased just as the rattle of a key and the creak of a door replaced it. She blinked blearily at the ceiling for a moment, then trailed her gaze down to the figure looming at the foot of her bed.

"Miss Baxter?" Mrs. Hughes' voice was soft.

Baxter blinked at her for a few more moments, confused, before the last events she remembered rushed back to her. She was outside, and she'd slipped, and _Molesley_ —

"Oh!" She sat up in a rush, eyes wide and mouth open.

Mrs. Hughes jumped, the teacup and kettle on the tray she held clattering dangerously. The older woman leveled Baxter with a disapproving look and then shut her eyes for just a moment, regaining herself from her surprise.

"Heavens, Miss Baxter," Mrs. Hughes breathed. "I'm going to lose years of my life if that's how you greet me from now on."

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Hughes," Baxter apologized. She'd had every intention to say no more, but her mouth had other plans; her words began to tumble out much faster than was appropriate. "What happened? I slipped on the ice right before I saw Mr. Molesley. Oh, _Mr. Molesley_ – that's right! I didn't know he was out of the hospital! Please, Mrs. Hughes, may I speak with him? He gave me quite a fright, I'm afraid. Is that how I ended up in here? I must have slipped on that ice again when he startled me. How clumsy." She looked around the white walls of her own room, wondering for a moment how she got from the snowy servant's exit to her warm bedroom, but then focused her gaze on the housekeeper.

Mrs. Hughes, usually so vocal and efficient, seemed to be at a loss for words. She didn't say anything for a few moments, instead sitting down the tray and readying a cup of tea for Baxter. She handed a steaming cup to the younger woman and then positioned Baxter's wooden chair next to the bed, taking a seat in it. She continued to stay quiet, watching Baxter take a sip of the hot liquid.

The silence was drawing on too long for Baxter's liking – she really was desperate to see Mr. Molesley even though he had just about caused her a heart attack – and she opened her mouth to speak when Mrs. Hughes silenced her with a hush and a stern look. Then, finally, the housekeeper spoke.

Her voice was even and calm, as if she was comforting Master George or Miss Sybbie, and Baxter suddenly felt very small.

"Miss Baxter, you must have slipped on the ice. Mr. Bates found you lying in the snow when he left to go check on Anna. No one could rouse you, so I had Mr. Barrow help carry you up here to rest."

Baxter felt a trickle of embarrassment surge through her. Thomas may be a changed man but that didn't mean he would pass up an opportunity to make fun of her. She knew him better than that.

"I'm so glad you're awake now," Mrs. Hughes continued. "We were just about to call Dr. Clarkson."

"My head hurts a bit," Baxter informed her. "But otherwise I feel just fine. I'm so very sorry to have caused such a fuss."

Mrs. Hughes waved her off with a scoff. "You are a valued member of this household, Miss Baxter. Of course we will make a fuss when you aren't well."

The words made Baxter's cheeks heat up. The kindness in both Mrs. Hughes' tone and eyes was so genuine that Baxter felt herself unworthy of being on the receiving end. She'd not been a valued member of anything for so, so long – maybe ever – that she felt the familiar prick of tears beginning to form behind her eyes. She dropped her gaze to her half full teacup and let her mouth curve into a small smile.

"That means quite a bit to me, Mrs. Hughes."

The older woman smiled, and then stood up. "Well then. Now that you've had some tea, I think you ought to rest a bit more. I'll be back to check on you in an hour or so with a tray from Mrs. Patmore."

"But – wait!" Baxter nearly dropped her cup in her haste to stop Mrs. Hughes from leaving. One moment the housekeeper had been seated and the next she was nearly out the door – she could certainly move fast. Necessity of the job, most likely.

Mrs. Hughes hesitated for just a moment, looking back at Baxter.

"What about Mr. Molesley? Is he still here? Please, may I see him?" She knew that she sounded desperate, and she felt very much like a child begging for an extra pastry, but she didn't care. It had been weeks since she'd seen or spoken to Molesley, and if he was well enough to be up and walking around them he was well enough to talk with her. She desperately wanted to apologize for the accident. "I know it's quite improper for him to come to my room but—,"

"Miss Baxter," Mrs. Hughes made her way back to the bed and sat back down on the chair she'd vacated just moments ago. "I'm not sure what you're going on about – Mr. Molesley is not here."

"I saw him."

"No, dear. You most certainly did not," Mrs. Hughes schooled her tone into a combination of gentle and stern, and continued on before Baxter had a chance to interrupt. "I didn't want to mention it now with you in a delicate state, but I suppose there's no time like the present. Mrs. Crawley called on Her Ladyship for luncheon today and she had news of Mr. Molesley. He has not woken up…and they are all fearful that he will not."

Baxter's mouth fell open. She suddenly felt as though someone had dumped ice water down her back, and it penetrated her deeply - all the way down to her bloodstream. She wouldn't have known she was shaking had it not been from the now lukewarm tea sloshing about in the cup she still grasped. Mrs. Hughes noticed immediately and took the teacup from her, placing it on the nightstand next to the bed. Then she did something that Baxter would have never expected – she took Baxter's cold, trembling hands into her own warm, still ones.

"Tomorrow makes it three weeks since the accident and Mr. Molesley has not been awake since. Dr. Clarkson is worried there has been swelling in his brain, but there's nothing to be done besides wait. There's nothing any of us can do but wait, and pray, Miss Baxter."

"But -," Baxter choked the word out, but could not find any words to follow.

"I'm so sorry, my dear," Mrs. Hughes gave her hands a squeeze. "I refuse to give up hope. Our Mr. Molesley is a strong man – we must be confident that he can pull through."

That was too much for her and, for the second time that day, Baxter dissolved into tears. Her face crumpled and the sobs came from deep in her chest. Molesley wasn't here, that much she logically knew before she'd even gotten her hopes up – but now he was also barely a step away from death. Her breathing hitched as she sucked in deep ragged breaths, and Phyllis Baxter cried like she hadn't in years.

Mrs. Hughes never let go of her hands.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been two days since Baxter’s slip on the ice and subsequent outburst to Mrs. Hughes. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever get over her mortification of losing all self-control in front of the older woman, but Mrs. Hughes waved off every apology with a flick of her wrist and a kind smile. It struck Baxter, yet again, how fortunate she was to work at Downton and be afforded such kindness and care.

Baxter had spent the rest of that fateful day in bed. Her head started pounding following her breakdown, and she’d taken Mrs. Hughes’ orders to get some rest. The next day Anna was finally back, looking healthy and happy, and had insisted that Baxter do no more than mending so that she could stay off of her feet and take it easy. When Baxter argued, Anna had firmly insisted stating she knew exactly what sort of requests Lady Mary had been making and that Baxter had been overworked on Anna’s account. Not willing to force the subject, Baxter had quietly submitted and spent the day with the faithful hum of her sewing machine as company.

That brought her to today, her half day, and she had taken her usual walk to the village hospital. Except this time, instead of wringing her hands together and turning back to the Abbey, she took a few deep breaths and forced her feet to propel her to the entrance.

She had to see him. Now more than ever since she knew the circumstances were dire. If she didn’t – if he died, and she’d never sat by his bed – she would never be able to forgive herself.

Phyllis Baxter had a long list of regrets, but this would not be one of them.

The hospital was quiet when she pushed the door open. The majority of the beds were empty save for an older gentleman sitting up reading a newspaper, and a child getting a broken arm tended to by a nurse. Her eyes swept over the room and then landed on a figure, unmoving, tucked safely in a bed near the back of the room. Sucking in another gulp of air, Baxter made her way towards Molesley.

She had been mentally preparing herself for what he would look like, but it was somehow both better and worse than she could have ever expected. Molesley’s eyes were shut and his lips were parted slightly. She could hear his gentle, rhythmic, shallow breaths – if she didn’t know any better, she would guess that he was just taking a well-deserved nap.

It was the sight of his face that made her chest ache and her stomach churn. He looked like himself, of course, but the color of his skin was unnaturally pale. There were deep, dark circles underneath his eyes, and his skin seemed to be hanging loosely from his cheekbones. He had clearly lost weight, an unhealthy amount if his appearance was anything to go by, and his already thin hair seemed to be even thinner.

But he was still Molesley, and he was still alive. Nothing else mattered as long as he was still alive. Like Mrs. Hughes had said, she had to stay hopeful and she had to be confident that he would make it through this.

Baxter wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there staring at him, but eventually she spotted a chair and pulled it over next to his bed. Sitting stiffly, she folded her hands tightly in her lap and cleared her throat.

“I heard once that talking helps, even if you aren’t awake,” She began, her voice soft so as not to disturb the other patients. “I’m not sure who from. Anna, maybe? Well anyway, the who or the why doesn’t quite seem to matter now, does it? I thought maybe it was worth a try so – here I am, Mr. Molesley. To talk.”

She paused for a moment to listen to his breathing. Then, she slid her chair a little closer.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to visit you,” She bowed her head slightly, and began smoothing the sheets around him to busy her hands. “I’ve been busy – very busy, as Anna’s been ill and I’ve had to tend to Lady Mary – but, well, that’s no excuse, is it? If I was the one in the hospital, I imagine you would have been to see me most every day.”

She leaned back in her chair and folded her hands together, placing them in her lap once more.

“That’s because you’re much stronger than I, Mr. Molesley. I’ve wanted to be here, and I’ve walked here more times than I can count but I was always too afraid to step inside. I was afraid of what I’d find or that, well, that you might be…,” She trailed off and cleared the lump that had started forming in her throat. “Anyway. I’m here now, and I will be here from now on. I promise you.”

Baxter wasn’t sure how proper it was, but proper etiquette be damned – she reached out and took his hand. It had been resting alongside his body, on top of his blanket, and was cold to the touch. She squeezed it tightly with one, then both, of her hands. A tear slid down her cheek.

“I’m so sorry that this has happened, Mr. Molesley. I’ve gone over it again and again in my mind trying to think of what I should have done differently – like, not being in the hall to start with since I certainly wasn’t needed there. It was just so nice to see you and to talk to you, like old times. I was excited to have you back at Downton, even if for just a few days.”

Molesley had asked to return while his students were on a brief fall break. They’d had the last two days of the week off school, plus the weekend, and Downton was hosting a large dinner as Lady Rose, her husband, and new baby had been to visit. Molesley had offered his services, stating that he hadn’t anything to do for four straight days in his cottage and had missed socializing with the other servants. Thomas had agreed easily, glad to have the extra help, and the two of them had come to an agreement that Molesley would return when his students went on holiday for Christmas as well.

Baxter had been beside herself with excitement. She was thrilled that Molesley loved his teaching position, but she’d missed him something terrible. He was her best friend in every sense of the word and getting used to Downton without him had been a task. They’d still visit, of course; occasionally meeting to walk through the gardens in the village or for a cup of tea on her half days. Sadly, it was infrequent that they could both steal away from their respective jobs at the same time - so they had not seen each other much.

That was why Baxter had been in the hall, standing at the bottom of the stairs as Molesley climbed up them on that fateful day. The two had been virtually inseparable, gaining snide remarks from Thomas and stern looks from Mrs. Hughes. They’d been joking, laughing, as Thomas came hurrying down and Molesley stepped backwards into the empty air. Now, Molesley was hanging on by a thread, his students had lost their teacher, and Baxter had lost her closest friend and confidant.

Squeezing Molesley’s hand once more, Baxter gave him a small, sad, smile, “You must wake up, Mr. Molesley. You must come back to us.”

She pulled back then and released Molesley’s hand. Reaching into her handbag, she pulled out some knitting and set to work. She trained her eyes on her yarn, and she talked. She told Molesley about Anna catching the flu and how many shoes she had to polish for Lady Mary, she gossiped about a particularly loud fight Mrs. Patmore and Daisy had gotten into a week ago, and she told him about the weather. She talked of the icy breeze and the crispy snow, and how she’d slipped and fallen because she thought she saw him and that she was certain she was going absolutely bonkers. She informed him of the Christmas celebration Her Ladyship was throwing, and of how Thomas had been extra kind as of late. She talked, and talked, until there didn’t seem to be much left to talk about.

By the time Baxter stood up to leave, her back was sore from the hard wooden chair and the scarf she’d been knitting was so much larger that she had trouble sticking it back into her handbag. She replaced the chair and then lingered near the edge of Molesley’s bed. It was funny, she mused – she had been so afraid to come here that she’d avoided it like the plague, and now that it was time to leave, she didn’t fancy the thought.

Baxter glanced around the room quickly, taking stock of who was still there. The old man had fallen asleep and was snoring loudly; the child with the broke arm had left well over an hour ago. The only nurse in the room was studying a chart and taking down notes.

Quickly, while no one was the wiser, Baxter leaned down and pressed her lips to Mr. Molesley’s forehead and then whispered her farewell.

“Stay strong, Mr. Molesley.”

* * *

It was snowing when Baxter left the hospital, but the wind was gentle and, for once, not unbearable. The flurry of snow was light, snowflakes seeming to dance and twirl in the wind. It was rather pretty with the afternoon sunlight peeking out from behind the trees, making the snow glint and sparkle.

She still had some time before she needed to be back up to the Abbey, so she decided to let her mind wander and her feet carry her wherever they pleased. Funnily enough, that was towards the schoolhouse and Mr. Molesley’s cottage. The windows of his home were dark and the path to the door had not been shoveled; signs that the master of the house had not been present for quite a while. Large icicles hung from the roof with a few lying broken in the snow below. The cottage looked empty, and morose, and Baxter felt a pang of sadness in her heart. It was a funny thing, how a building could feel so warm and happy when it was occupied with love, laughter, and friendship, but so forlorn without.

Baxter walked on, not wanting to get sucked into the doom and gloom of spiraling thoughts. She decided to take the walk that she’d often take when meeting Mr. Molesley – they followed the road from his house towards the tree line, where a footpath split off and twisted up through the gardens on the outskirts of Downton. Eventually the path met up with road to the big house, where Baxter would take a left and Molesley would take a right back to his cottage. It was a nice walk, and Baxter hadn’t taken in since well before the skies had turned grey and the snow had begun to fall.

Feeling curious as to how everything looked with the afternoon sunshine glinting off of the sparkling snow, she walked with a purpose and a sense of joy that she hadn’t felt for weeks. If Molesley was awake and well, and with her, he would most certainly be enjoying a day like today. Since he wasn’t, Baxter would – and she would record each detail carefully in her mind so that she could describe it to him on her next visit.

The walked turned into being a very good idea. The familiar scenery was beautiful, a bit magical even, all covered in snow and ice. Baxter paused when she reached the top of a slight incline and gazed up at the large tree that usually provided her and Molesley shade for their breaks. This was the spot they’d often sit and have a quaint picnic lunch. Molesley would spread out a blanket and Baxter would begin laying out the food she’d been given by Mrs. Patmore, then they would eat and chat and laugh.

How simple things were then. If only she would’ve known what was to come.

A crunch of snow behind her startled Baxter from her memories, and she spun around. Much like last time, her mouth fell open and her eyes widened to the size of saucers. Unlike last time, she did not lose consciousness.

Joseph Molesley was standing in front of her, hands in his pockets, and looking very sheepish.

Baxter shook her head quickly, then scrubbed her hands over her face.

“I’ve gone mad,” She muttered, focusing on taking deep breaths. “Absolutely mad.”

She kept her eyes closed as she lowered her hands. She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth once, twice, three times, and opened her eyes – expecting to see nothing besides snow covered trees.

Instead, she saw Molesley.

“I’ve done a lot to be sorry for in this lifetime but even I don’t deserve this,” She moaned, and glared at Molesley. “I’ve gone soft in the head!”

Then she turned and marched off down the path.

“Wait!”

The voice made her freeze mid-step. It was one thing to hallucinate seeing him standing there, but it was quite another to hear his voice. The sound was so strong and so resonate and so very _Molesley_ that she wasn’t sure it was even in her capability to hallucinate it. She felt like the air had been sucked out of her entire body and her heart pounded so ferociously against her chest that she figured it might bust its way out. Whatever was happening, it was not normal – it was not like anything she’d ever dealt with before.

“Miss Baxter, please, don’t go yet!”

The snow crunched behind her again and when Baxter turned to look, Molesley was standing an arm’s length away.

He gave her an awkward, lopsided grin, and scratched the back of his head, “This is – well, this is quite odd, I must say.”

Baxter just stared.

Molesley continued quickly, stumbling over his words, “I’m not quite sure what’s going on, but it seems like you’re the only one who can hear me. Or see me, really. I’ve been trying to get Dad to pay attention to me for days and he just carries on with business like usual, like I’m not even there.”

“What?” Baxter croaked out.

“It sounds completely mad, I know!” Molesley hurried on. “I thought it was some sort of joke at first – like, oh, let’s all pretend that we can’t see Joseph ha-ha-ha. But either everyone in the village is committed to pulling the wool over my eyes or they really _can’t_ see me.”

“Can’t see you,” Baxter repeated, feeling a bit woozy.

“I’ve been testing it, the last few days,” Molesley continued. “I’ve been at Downton, and I walked right into the library while His Lordship was sitting with Lady Mary. I walked in and said ‘please do not pardon the interruption, it was on purpose’ thinking, you know, they’d toss me out for being completely mad. But Lady Mary just said they needed to replace the latch on the door as it had swung open of its own accord. She looked right through me!”

Baxter nodded to show that she was listening, but her mind was swimming. Or was drowning a more applicable word?

“None of the servants can see me. I spent a good five minutes telling Thomas off for being a git to Daisy and he didn’t hear a word. Then I moved some of Mrs. Patmore’s spices around because I knew she’d kick me out on my bum for touching something in her kitchen, but she just got into a row with Daisy about them. I do feel a bit bad about that, lots of yelling…Miss Baxter, I just don’t understand any of this!” He threw his arms up in frustration and then dropped them heavily to his sides. “But then I saw you. And you saw _me_. You seem to be the only person who can communicate with me. I’m sorry that I gave you such a shock the other day outside the servant’s door – I didn’t mean to startle you, really. But I knew you saw me in the hall when no one else did, so I was desperate to talk to you.”

“Oh,” Baxter breathed out.

Molesley opened his mouth to begin another onslaught of information, but Baxter held both of her hands up in front of her, palms facing out toward her friend.

“Mr. Molesley,” She said, meeting his gaze with a weary one of her own. “If you’re going to keep talking, I really must sit down.”


	4. Chapter 4

Life was certainly a funny thing.

Baxter had planned on spending her day talking to Mr. Molesley, but she had not expected that he would talk back. She hadn’t expected that he’d laugh, and smile, and meet her gaze. All in all, she wasn’t quite sure what to make of her current situation. Either Mr. Molesley was here – with her – or she had lost every last one of her marbles.

She wasn’t sure but was betting it was the latter.

But instead of fighting against what was happening, instead of running or screaming or passing out (again), she sat down. The little bench was set a way back from the main path, and caked with snow, but she didn’t much care. She brushed as much of the gleaming white powder away as she could and then sank down heavily. The bench was freezing on her legs and bottom despite the heavy winter coat she had on over her dress, but she didn’t mind. She was appreciative of the touch, actually – it made her feel a little more present with the physical world and a little less like she was raving mad.

At this point she didn’t much care if she _was_ raving mad, to be truthful. Distinguishing fact from reality didn’t seem to be possible anymore, so she decided to embrace the chaos. More than likely she was having some sort of fever dream and would wake up to Mrs. Hughes’ anxious voice, so why not indulge in the utter impossibility of this situation while she was in it?

If nothing else, she got to talk to Molesley and, more importantly, listen to him talk back. That horrified her, considering the circumstances, but it also provided a level of comfort and normalcy that she’d been sorely missing.

Life was certainly a funny, funny thing.

Molesley cleared his throat, and Baxter tilted her head to look at him. He had taken a seat next to her on the bench and hadn’t spoken another word since. He seemed to be just as deeply zoned out into his thoughts as she was, so she used the moment of stillness to study him.

He was her Molesley. His face was plump and a bit pink from the cold, but with no traces of saggy skin or sickly paleness. The dark circles she’d seen under his eyes earlier were still there, but much less so – just the normal tired eyes of someone who had spent years working in service. Molesley looked as normal as normal could be. It was so striking that she wondered for a moment if the accident had been some sort of terrible nightmare that she’d just woken up from, and that this was reality. The thought made her heart flutter.

Molesley’s eyes caught hers appraising him then, and his cheeks got a little pinker. She looked quickly away, as did he, and the absurdness of both of them trying to avoid embarrassment in the context of their current situation hit her like a train.

And Baxter began to laugh.

Molesley’s gaze snapped back to her and his brows furrowed in complete confusion, but now Miss Baxter was doubled over. As he watched her laugh, the corners of his own mouth began to tilt up and soon he was chuckling along with her.

“Oh Mr. Molesley!” Baxter wheezed between her laughs. “What is wrong with the two of us!"

“I wish I knew,” He laughed back.

And then Baxter reached to touch his arm good naturedly and all laughter abruptly ceased.

The two of them both stared, transfixed, as her hand passed right through him.

“What the…,” Baxter breathed.

She moved her hand back and forth where his arm was, but it was like waving it through air. Molesley looked so solid, so normal, but it was like she was seated next to an illusion. Molesley studied his hands intently, then looked at Baxter. Ever so gently, he reached towards her smaller hand. Instead of the warmth of his hand covering hers, they both watched with wide eyes as it went right through.

“Bloody hell,” Molesley choked after a moment. “I’ve bloody died, haven’t I? I’ve died and come back as a bloody ghost.”

His eyes were so wide and fearful and sad that Baxter wanted nothing more than to reach out to him, to hug him – but instead she stood up and began pacing back and forth, suddenly much too anxious to be still.

“No, Mr. Molesley,” She responded. “You aren’t dead – I was just with you, well, other you. And you’re asleep but very much alive.”

She stopped and faced him.

“I held your hand in the hospital. I…I kissed your forehead before I left.”

“The hospital?” He was on his feet now, too, and staring at her with something akin to desperation. “What do you mean the _hospital_?”

“In the village. You’ve been there for three weeks, since the accident.”

She watched the information spinning in his mind and the moment everything clicked, his face went pale.

“I fell down the stairs,” He said. “I hit my head and then…well, then I don’t know what happened. That explains why I’ve felt so odd lately – why I can’t communicate with anyone. Miss Baxter, I’ve thought I’ve just been muddled but sometimes I feel like I open my eyes and I’m in Downton, or my Dads. Then I try to walk to a different room or go to my cottage and everything just...it just stops. It’s like, well, quite like I keep falling asleep at random times and then waking up somewhere new. And I don’t know why or how long I’ve been asleep or how I even fell asleep in the first place.”

Baxter’s eyes were the size of saucers as she watched him. If she’d just had his explanation to go by, she didn’t know if she would have fully comprehended what he meant – but by watching it happen, she did. Molesley was flickering. Parts of his body would become almost completely see through and then snap back into focus. A hand here, a leg there – like he was fading away and then coming back. Suddenly she was terrified. Even though she knew she couldn’t touch him, she tried anyway. She stepped towards him and reached out her arms to touch what should have been his chest.

“Don’t go,” She begged. “Mr. Molesley, I don’t understand any of this, but you can’t leave! Not yet!”

“I’m not leaving,” He looked at her with his eyebrows drawn together, alarmed by her outburst.

“Look at your hands!”

And he did. He looked down and gasped at his fingers fading in and out of focus. His gaze snapped back to hers, eyes wide and terrified, and then he was gone.

“Mr. Molesley!” She screamed, turning around and around desperate to catch a sight of him. “ _Mr. Molesley_!”

The only reply to come was the flapping of wings as some nearby birds took off into the sky.

* * *

Baxter didn’t leave the spot where Molesley disappeared until the sun was sinking behind the trees and the frosty night air had numbed her extremities. She made her way back towards Downton quickly as the earlier snow flurry returned but this time with a forceful wind. The whipping snowflakes stung her cheeks and her body shivered from being outside so long. With the events of the day, she’d lost all sense of time. She wasn’t late, but she was cutting it much closer than she would have liked. Luckily, the shortened days of winter meant she didn’t need to begin dressing Her Ladyship for dinner until the sun had set.

She spent the entire walk back to the big house looking over her shoulder. Every crunch of snow or gust of wind brought with it thoughts of Mr. Molesley. He’d been so adept at appearing out of thin air that she was half expecting him to fall into step beside her, but he did not. It was almost funny how earlier she had wanted nothing more than to stop seeing him everywhere and how now seeing him was the only thing she wanted.

She didn’t understand it. She had never understood anything less in her life, to be frank. But he had been right there, right beside her, talking and laughing and breathing and smiling. Maybe she’d hallucinated it all, in which case it would be only a matter of time until the Crawley’s had her shipped off for lunacy. But if she hadn’t hallucinated it? If, however bizarre it all seemed, Mr. Molesley was truly visiting her, and she was the only one that could communicate with him – didn’t she owe him that? As a friend?

When she was a child and still in school, there was a boy named Benjamin in her class. He was always in trouble with the teacher because he’d spend more time telling stories than he would doing his classwork. He’d tell them all tales of mythical creatures that he’d claimed to have seen, or beasts that lived in the woods next to the schoolhouse. He’d also frequently talk of ghosts.

Baxter had never heard of ghosts before that, and he was eager to fill her head full of his stories. He’d tell her of how they could float through walls and make things move. How the air would get cold when there was a ghost around and that they would haunt her until she went mad.

“How does a person become a ghost?” She’d asked, eyes wide and terrified with her long, braided hair pulled over her shoulder and clutched tightly between her hands.

“They die before they finish all of their business,” Benjamin replied wisely. “They’re stuck here and miserable, so they want to make the living miserable too.”

“Can’t they finish their business as a ghost?”

“Maybe,” Benjamin shrugged. “But then they wouldn’t be a ghost no more, would they?”

“So, if they finish what they wanted to do when they were alive their soul can rest in peace,” She repeated the words she’d heard spoken when her grandfather died, before they lowered his body into the ground. _May his soul rest in peace_.

“I dunno, Phyllis,” Benjamin rolled his eyes at her. “Ghosts aren’t interested in finishing anything anymore; they just want to haunt people like you.”

“Like me?” Her eyes widened significantly.

Benjamin’s eyes widened as well, “You mean…you don’t know you’re haunted? But Phyllis…it’s standing right behind you!”

One of Benjamin’s friends had snuck behind her and blew a breath of cold air on the back of her neck then. Phyllis screamed at the feeling and took off, stumbling out of the schoolhouse and crashing into Amelia Barrow. Both girls tumbled to the ground, Phyllis in tears and Amelia furious. Amelia had marched right up to Benjamin and kicked him in the shin, then invited Phyllis back to her house for tea.

The corners of Baxter’s mouth turned up in a small smile as she thought about the day she met Amelia and, subsequently, Thomas Barrow. However, the smile faded quickly as her thoughts turned back to the original topic of her distraction: ghosts. More specifically, ghosts with unfinished business.

It would make sense – if Molesley was a ghost, that is, with some sort of business to attend to. If she was the only one able to see or hear him, maybe that meant she needed to help him. That made sense too, when you really thought about it. Molesley was her closest friend and confidant, and she was fairly certain that she was his. But there was one catch.

Molesley was not dead.

He was not in a great way, but he was most certainly still alive and breathing. She’d been to visit him only hours ago! A surge of fear gripped her that he’d passed after she left, but she shook it off. Somehow, she knew that hadn’t happened. She’d seen the specter Molesley pop up before she’d visited the actual Molesley.

Baxter had finally made it to the house then, and gratefully stepped into the warmth of the bustling hallway. She stripped off all of her winter wear and hung everything up to dry. Glancing at the clock, she realized she had a few minutes to spare before she’d be needed upstairs, so she made her way to the fire in the servant’s hall. Her fingers were still numb and that would be quite a hinderance to dressing Lady Grantham, so the idea of warming herself next to the flames was a very appealing one.

The hall was empty when she entered; not even a maid was present. The quiet was nice, albeit a bit strange. In a house like Downton it was rare to have a few moments of peace to yourself, even with the limited number of servants they now employed. Baxter stood facing the blazing fireplace and held out her hands, flexing her fingers as the warmth seeped into her skin. She stared into the crackling flames and realized for the first time just how very exhausted she was.

“Have you seen Molesley, then?”

The voice came from behind her but she, surprisingly, was not startled. She hadn’t heard Mr. Bates approaching but the way he spoke was soft and calm. The question seemed to settle in the air, lingering, rather than plowing its way through and demanding an answer. She didn’t look at him right away but when she did, she saw he was seated at the far side of the table right next to the doorway.

There were so many ways to answer Bates’ question that Baxter almost laughed out loud again. _Had she seen Molesley?_ Oh, Mr. Bates, if only you knew.

The valet tilted his head to the side, watching her curiously. There was something about the man that made you feel like he always knew what you were getting up to inside your own mind.

Baxter settled on the easiest answer. “I did, Mr. Bates. I visited with him for my entire half day.”

“How is he getting on?”

“There hasn’t been any change,” She told him, even though she felt like it was a blatant lie considering what her entire day had entailed. But even so – nothing had actually changed with the real Mr. Molesley. But wasn’t maybe-a-ghost Mr. Molesley still real? He’d certainly seemed real enough. Baxter felt the beginnings of a headache forming.

“He’s a good man and he’s in my thoughts. I’m hopeful he’ll be back at Downton with us before too long.”

There was a movement in the doorway, causing Baxter to glance up. Molesley was there, leaning into the room with one hand on the doorframe. He caught Baxter’s eye and her face lit up in a smile. The sudden change of expression was not lost on Bates.

“Maybe even sooner than we believe possible, Mr. Bates.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this update - I was out of town visiting a friend! I hope you're all still enjoying reading this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it. I'd love to hear what you think. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait on this update! Life got in the way, of course (I work in theatre but now because of covid, that's not a possibility...so now I'm figuring out a new career and going on job interviews galore). I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Baxter kindly excused herself from Mr. Bates and made her way out of the servant’s hall, where Mr. Molesley followed her toward the stairs. She had a million things that she wanted to say to him, but kept her mouth firmly closed. What would Bates think if he heard her talking to what from his perspective would be herself?

“So, that was odd,” Molesley started when the two of them reached the stairs. “I mean, what happened earlier. I’m not too fond of seeing my hands disappearing, mind you.”

“I certainly can’t imagine you would be.” Baxter responded quietly, unable to help herself. She placed her hand on the railing and had made it up two steps before a voice behind caused her to pause.

“Who are you talking to, Miss Baxter?”

Mrs. Hughes had just stepped into the hallway. The older woman’s eyebrows were pulled together in a look that was both concerned and suspicious. Baxter’s cheeks immediately reddened. She took a chance at responding, and she got caught. _Should’ve known better._

“No one, Mrs. Hughes,” She answered quickly. “I was just reminding myself of a few things I need to get mended tonight. I must have been so wrapped up in my thoughts that I didn’t realize I’d spoken aloud.”

“Quite alright. Get on with you then, her Ladyship is ringing.”

Mrs. Hughes stayed rooted to the spot, watching Baxter with suspicion as the younger woman quickly climbed the stairs. Molesley followed, unseen to all but one.

“That was close,” He said when the housekeeper was out of sight. “You covered well, though.”

Baxter opened her mouth to respond when the upstairs door opened, and a maid scurried through. Baxter exchanged a smile with her and stepped out into the intricately decorated hallway in which Lady Grantham’s room was located.

“I haven’t been up here in ages,” Molesley mused.

The two of them reached the door to Lady Grantham’s room and Baxter placed a hand on the doorknob. Then, hesitated and turned to Molesley. With a quick glance around to make sure the two of the them were truly alone this time, she spoke in a hushed breath.

“Mr. Molesley, you cannot follow me in here.”

“What?” He looked as if she’d kicked him. “Why ever not?”

Baxter stared at him incredulously. “I have to dress Her Ladyship. You can’t be in there, whether she can see you or not. It’s improper.”

“Oh,” He nodded; then, his eyes widened. “ _Oh_. Yes, uh, certainly. I’ll – well, I’ll wait here for you?”

“That should be fine. I should—,”

Her words were cut off when the door to Lady Grantham’s room swung open and the lady herself stood there – head tilted to the side as she regarded her maid.

“Baxter? Whomever are you speaking to?”

“No one, Lady Grantham.” Baxter felt her cheeks burning for the second time in less than ten minutes. How badly she had wanted Molesley to reappear, and now that he had he was the cause of one too many instances of embarrassment for her liking.

“I swear I heard whispering,” She stuck her head through the doorway and looked down the hallway in both directions. Then she shrugged her shoulders and stepped back so Baxter could enter. “I must be going mad, Baxter.”

Baxter smiled at her, and then met Molesley’s gaze as she closed the door to him with a soft click.

“Sometimes I feel quite the same way, my Lady.”

* * *

Baxter listened half-heartedly, making noises of agreement here and there as Her Ladyship gushed on and on about how much more work she had to get done before the Christmas festivities. Usually Baxter quite enjoyed talking to Lady Grantham – Cora was kind, and intelligent. The position of a Lady’s Maid meant that Baxter was trusted in the most intimate way, both with Her Ladyship’s physical and emotional needs. Over the years, Cora had trusted Baxter with secrets and information that she told no one else. What they had was not a friendship, per se, but it was a camaraderie of sorts.

It was the whole reason she’d gotten this position in the first place – to gain Lady Grantham’s trust, listen to her secrets, and tell them all to Thomas.

How those days felt like forever ago.

“Baxter?”

“Yes, my Lady?” Baxter was standing behind Cora, intently focused on the Lady’s hair. She looked into the mirror in front of them both to meet Cora’s eyes.

“You’ve seemed distracted recently. Is everything alright?”

Baxter smiled and continued on with her work, putting the finishing touches on her hair, “Yes, my Lady, quite alright. I’ve just been tired, is all.”

“Yes, that is plainly written all over your face.” In contrast to the harsh words, Cora’s expression was soft and caring. She turned around on her seat and clasped her hands in her lap, facing Baxter directly.

“I’m sorry—,” Baxter started, but Cora held up a hand and shook her head.

“You’ve nothing to apologize for, Baxter. Your work has been as impeccable as ever and you’ve kindly listened to me drone on and on about my holiday planning. I would just like to return the favor for you.”

Baxter blinked. “Oh.”

“I’m sure Mrs. Hughes has informed you of the message from Dr. Clarkson? About Mr. Molesley?”

“She has, my Lady,” Baxter answered. “I’ve just spent my half day visiting him at the hospital.”

“I figured as much,” Cora smiled, albeit a bit sadly. “I know the two of you have struck up quite the friendship. That’s why I wanted to talk to you, Baxter – I want to give you my explicit permission to spend as much time at the hospital as you see fit. I’ve decided on the dresses I wish to wear for Christmas, so I don’t want you to worry about any other mending unless it’s for those specific things. It’s a busy time, as you know, and I can’t afford to lose you completely, but allowances will be made for you to spend adequate time with Mr. Molesley.”

“Oh,” Baxter blinked again. “That’s so kind, my Lady, thank you. Thank you.”

“Thank me for nothing,” Cora smiled and then turned to face her mirror again.

Baxter finished dressing Lady Grantham quickly, and left the room with her lady’s words still echoing around her mind.

She was grateful for Her Ladyship’s kindness, and she was ever so lucky to work for a family of aristocrats who showed care and compassion towards their servants. But Baxter couldn’t help but feel a heaviness in her chest for the reason behind the kindness. If Mr. Molesley had been well on his way to recovery, she’d never be excused from her duties.

No, Lady Grantham clearly believed that Molesley was well on his way to the grave.

The thought made Baxter’s stomach churn and she had to stop for a moment, placing a hand on the wall right outside of the stairwell door. Her mind went right back to her earlier thoughts about ghosts and unfinished business. What if the Mr. Molesley she’d been having conversations with truly was a ghost? What if he didn’t know he was dead?

What if his body was still alive, but his soul was no longer inhabiting it?

Her head was swirling. This was all too much for one person in one day, and she wanted to sink down onto the floor and bury her face in her arms. Even more so, she wanted to curl up in her bed and hide under the duvet until morning – and she wanted to wake up and realize that everything was back as it should be. Mr. Molesley was happy and healthy, and she could carry on with her duties without any worry or fear clouding her senses.

Baxter had learned long ago that you don’t always get what you want. Pushing herself away from the wall, she took some deep breaths and then opened the door and started her descent downstairs.

It wasn’t until then that she realized Mr. Molesley had not been waiting outside of Lady Grantham’s room like he said he’d be.


	6. Chapter 6

Baxter didn’t see Mr. Molesley again for the rest of the night. She’d half expected him to be waiting in the servant’s hall, sitting next to the fire or taunting Thomas by making his cigarettes mysteriously disappear. When she checked the room, its only occupants were the Bates’ and Daisy. She went on to check the boot room, the kitchen, and every nook and cranny she could find. There was no sign of Molesley.

When it was time to retire for the night, she sank down heavily in her bed. Her thoughts were so loud that she didn’t expect to get a wink of sleep, but the exhaustion and emotional upheaval of the day proved to be a force strong enough to overpower her reeling mind. Within moments of her head hitting the pillow, Baxter was unconscious.

Her dreams were a swirl of colors and anxiety and Mr. Molesley so when she awoke in the morning, she felt like she’d hardly been asleep at all. The only thing that pulled her out of bed was her desire to see if maybe-a-ghost Molesley had returned.

He hadn’t.

She didn’t expect the disappointment and sadness to sit so heavily on her shoulders. She pushed around the eggs on her breakfast plate, her appetite nonexistent. She went about her duties in a trance, and she spoke to no one unless she was spoken to. Lady Grantham had watched her closely as Baxter dressed her for the day, and the Countess quietly slipped in a reminder that Baxter was free to visit the hospital if she pleased. The rest of the day came and went, and Baxter tossed herself headfirst into her duties. By the time she went to sleep that night it was nearly time to rise again.

The servants were taking their tea when the post came.

It was Mrs. Hughes who received the notice. She entered the hall quickly and placed a hand on Baxter’s shoulder from behind, making the younger woman jump and nearly fling her teacup across the room.

“It’s from Dr. Clarkson.” Mrs. Hughes said before Baxter could question her.

The cacophony that usually filled the servant’s hall during mealtimes quieted immediately. The sounds of forks scraping on plates lessened, and all eyes turned to the housekeeper. The room suddenly felt hot, like all the air had been sucked out of it. No one dared to breathe.

“It’s Mr. Molesley,” Mrs. Hughes continued. “He’s taken a turn. You must go now.”

“I’ll drive you,” The voice came from the doorway and everyone rose hastily to their feet as Tom stuck his head in. He shrugged his jacket on and waved a hand at them. “There’s no need or time for all that. Miss Baxter, shall we?”

Everything happened in what felt like a whirlwind. Baxter was ushered into the car next to Tom, and he sped down the long driveway fast enough to make her clutch her hat on her head. She was vaguely aware of him rambling at her; Dr. Clarkson had phoned about Mr. Molesley’s condition. Apparently, it had worsened much faster than anticipated in the time between his sending a note to the servants and when the note would arrive, so he’d phoned upstairs in case the afternoon post was too slow. Tom had been the one to answer the phone. He had told Lady Grantham of the development immediately, and she had expressed her desire for Baxter to be off to the hospital right away.

When they arrived, Tom waved off all of her attempts to thank him and ushered her towards the entrance. He accompanied her as far as the door, opened it, and then returned to the car with a promise to check in later thrown over his shoulder. It was a kindness that Baxter would never have expected, but one she would forever be grateful for.

When she stepped inside the hospital, she felt her breath hitch at the sight before her. Dr. Clarkson was standing next to Molesley’s bed, a nurse next to him. An older man was seated in the same wooden chair she’d claimed two days before. It was Molesley’s father, Bill; his head was bent, and Baxter could see his shoulders shaking in sobs.

_He’s gone._

The simple thought made her chest clench in agony. Her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears that she feared she would pass out before even making it to his bedside. With tears already pooling in her eyes, Baxter forced herself to hurry forward. It was Dr. Clarkson that noticed her first, and he stepped to the side to allow her his place next to Molesley’s bed.

“His brain is no longer getting enough oxygen,” Dr. Clarkson said quietly from behind her. Baxter sank down onto the side of Molesley’s bed and reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly. Dr. Clarkson continued. “I’m afraid he’s going into cardiac arrest.”

“Isn’t there anything to be done?” She whipped her head around, glaring at the Doctor through her tears.

He shook his head. “I’ve tried all I can.”

“No,” She sobbed, turning back to look at Molesley. “No, please no. Please wake up, Mr. Molesley. Please. Please wake up!”

There was pressure on her forearm, and she turned her head to see the older Mr. Molesley gazing at her; one hand grasping her arm and one hand grasping his sons. Baxter didn’t say anything, but the heartbreak written all over his tearstained face caused a sob to bubble out of her lips. She extended her arm and tightly grasped his forearm so that the two of them were linked, arms resting on top of the dying man they both loved.

* * *

It was sometime later when Dr. Clarkson had gone.

Baxter’s eyes were tired and bloodshot, and her head pounded with the terrible pain and overexertion that usually followed an emotional outburst. She hadn’t moved from her spot next to Molesley, not daring to take her hand or her eyes off of him for even a moment. If he was to pass tonight, she would be beside him.

The older Molesley had released his grip on her arm some time ago and sat back tiredly in his wooden chair, groaning as his tight muscles stretched. He was no longer holding his son’s hand, but his gaze had never strayed far from the younger Molesley’s face. Quietly at first, but growing louder as the time ticked past, Bill Molesley began to hum.

At first Baxter could only blink at him. She hated that she felt annoyed – she shouldn’t, the man was losing a son for heaven’s sake. What was her right? She truly didn’t even have a right to be there, to be by Molesley’s side; she was nothing more than a friend to him. But soon the gentle noise began to grow on her. The songs were familiar – all Christmas songs – and relatively in tune. Bill had closed his eyes as he hummed, and when Baxter looked at him, she was surprised to see a tiny smile gracing his lips.

He was on his second verse of _Silent Night_ when Baxter did something that she wasn’t sure surprised who more, her or Bill. She began to sing along.

She sang quietly at first, under her breath and barely in a whisper. Her throat was sore from crying, and her notes were pitchy, but Bill was looking at her with a fatherly warmth in his eyes that Baxter had never before felt. His smile had grown and soon she could feel a small smile of her own forming – and she sang with more confidence.

Soon other voices and hums joined in. Baxter had all but forgotten there were other ill or injured folks in the hospital, and when she looked around, she was surprised to see that the few others there had started to join in on the song. If they weren’t singing, they were listening. Many were smiling. It was a unique experience – certainly one she hadn’t ever been a part of before. Their little hospital choir and her pitchy soprano was nothing compared to the caroling performed by Lady Mary. But then, when those at Downton chose to sing it was in a vastly different, and much more joyful, setting.

When the song concluded, Baxter expected Bill to transition into humming the next. Instead, there was silence; she couldn’t help but look over at the older man.

He was staring at her, and he was smiling.

“ _Silent Night_ has always been Joseph’s favorite carol,” He told her. “When he was a boy his mother and I would wake up to him singing it and lay our heads down to him singing it.”

Baxter smiled. “That sounds lovely.”

“Lovely,” Bill snorted. “That’s one way to put it. Lovely, but enough to make a man go mad. Happened every year, no matter what. He still does it when he visits around the holiday.”

“That sounds like Mr. Molesley.”

“He’d be so happy to know you’re here for all of this, Miss Baxter.” Bill said. He leaned forward and stretched his back, groaning a little at the strain in the muscles. “He’s quite fond of you, as I’m sure you know.”

Baxter felt her cheeks grow warm and she ducked her head a bit, “I’m quite fond of Mr. Molesley as well. He’s become one of my closest friends. I told him years ago that his strength helped me stay strong, and it’s still true. Even now.”

Bill hummed in agreement, “It’s a cruel thing, a father having to face losing his son.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Molesley.”

He waved the comment off but held her gaze with his dark eyes, “Don’t be sorry, my dear. You just said his strength helped you be strong once – the same can be said for me. But now it’s our turn, you see? Our strength has to be there for him. We must help him to be strong.”

Baxter nodded, feeling a lump form in her throat, and let her gaze flick from the older Molesley to the younger. His breaths were shallower than they should be, and his complexion was even paler than the day before, but nothing else had seemed to change since she arrived. It had been hours – she had been all but convinced she’d lose Molesley the moment she entered the room, but here he was. Still alive. Still fighting.

Dr. Clarkson had said he wouldn’t survive the night. 

Baxter was not much of a hopeful woman. She found that hope was generally just a vehicle for disappointment, so she didn’t put much stock into it. Yet as the orange and yellow beams of sunrise began to shine through the frosted window, and day began to break, Baxter couldn’t help it.

She hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I have to admit - I don't know if any of that medical stuff could actually happen. I googled it, was confused, and went with what seemed like the best option. Call it artistic freedom and give me a pass (or tell me what makes more sense!) haha. Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Saturday! Apologies for the wait on this chapter - to make it up to you I made it twice as long as usual. :)

Molesley did not die.

Dr. Clarkson was beside himself with confusion; he went through every chart, checked all of Molesley’s vital signs, and eventually threw his arms up in the air in exasperation. There was no logical way that a coma patient would be able to come back from near cardiac arrest – especially when all of Clarkson’s attempts to help him had been unsuccessful. Yet when the good doctor checked on Molesley the next morning, his oxygen levels had returned to near normal and his heart was no longer distressed.

It didn’t make any sense, but neither Baxter nor Bill could bear to question it. After Dr. Clarkson reported that Molesley seemed to have returned to a stable condition, for now, the older Molesley wrapped Baxter’s tiny frame in a warm hug. She hugged him back with every ounce of strength she had, happy tears leaking from her tired eyes.

With a promise from Dr. Clarkson to ring if there was even the slightest change in his condition, Bill and Baxter left the hospital together in the early morning light. Baxter turned down Bill’s offer to walk her up to the big house; the old man looked as though a gentle breeze could knock him over. Baxter had been at the hospital since afternoon the day before and he was there when she arrived, so she could only imagine how many hours he’d spent keeping vigil at his son’s side.

They parted ways, and Baxter began the long trek to Downton. What she would give for Tom and his car to pull up right about now, she mused. It took a little longer than usual, but she eventually made it, opening the door gratefully. She had to speak with Mrs. Hughes, but then wanted nothing more than to curl up in her bed. Luckily for her, she ran straight into the older woman as she rounded the corner.

“Oh!” Mrs. Hughes gasped, startled, and put a hand to her chest. “Heavens, Miss Baxter, you are as silent as a mouse sometimes.” Her eyes took in Baxter’s ragged appearance, and she nodded toward her sitting room. “Come.”

Baxter had barely walked through the doorway when Mrs. Patmore came barreling through behind her, clutching a tray of tea. Mrs. Hughes thanked her and held the door open, but Mrs. Patmore took a seat next to the tea and busied herself pouring them all cups. Mrs. Hughes waited for one more moment before realizing she couldn’t shoo the cook away, then shut the door with a click.

Baxter accepted the tea gratefully. The liquid seemed to warm her from the inside out, and she gulped it down just a bit too quickly. There was something about a good cup of tea that had always succeeded in making her feel at ease, even in the darkest of times.

The tea’s calming effect didn’t seem to be working on Mrs. Patmore, though. The older woman could hold her tongue no more and Baxter felt a bit as if she was being interviewed by the barrage of questions she was being asked.

“We haven’t heard from the hospital,” Mrs. Patmore leaned forward, staring at Baxter. “Is he…? Oh our poor Mr. Molesley – he could give me quite the headache but he was a good man. What he did for Daisy and how he teaches those children, my, what a terrible, terrible loss.”

“Mrs. Patmore, don’t go jumping to conclusions. Let her speak.” Mrs. Hughes levelled her friend with a stern look. Mrs. Patmore immediately clamped her mouth shut.

Baxter drained the rest of the tea from her cup and then looked at the two older women with tired eyes and a tired smile. “Mr. Molesley is alive. Dr. Clarkson doesn’t know how he managed it, but he pulled through.”

She went on to fill them in on more details from her night at the hospital, including Molesley’s initial diagnosis and Clarkson’s promise to ring the moment something changed. Mrs. Patmore grasped Mrs. Hughes’ hand and praised the Lord for Molesley’s safety, gushing on and on about how happy she was until Mrs. Hughes kindly kicked her out. When it was just the two of them, Mrs. Hughes handed Baxter a scone from the tea tray and made it very clear Baxter had no choice but to eat it.

Once she’d finished the scone, Mrs. Hughes sent her straight to her room. The housekeeper was adamant that Baxter was to rest as long as she needed, and that her and Anna would attend to Her Ladyship in the meantime. Baxter was grateful – she wanted nothing more than a long, long sleep. However, she could see the stress in Mrs. Hughes’ body language. They were only three days from Christmas and guests were beginning to arrive. They needed all staff hands on deck.

Pulling her duvet up to her chin and letting her eyes drift closed, Baxter vowed to herself to be up and ready to get back to work by dinner time.

* * *

The time to dress Her Ladyship for dinner had come and gone by the time Baxter opened her bleary eyes.

At first, she couldn’t see anything, and blinked again, unaccustomed to such darkness in her room. She felt a bit out of sorts – groggy and muddled in a way that only came with sleeping during unusual hours. She yawned and stretched, her body feeling like it had had some semblance of rest for the first time in many, many days. She let her eyes slip closed for just a moment more before sighing and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Reaching for the lamp on her nightstand, Baxter lit it and the small room was bathed in a golden glow.

She squinted at the sudden brightness and took a moment to let her eyes adjust. When they did, she looked up to see a figure seated just across from her, near her dresser, in one of her wooden chairs that had been taken from its place near the window.

Baxter gasped.

The shock of seeing a figure in her own personal room, where no one but Mrs. Hughes had ever been, made her body launch into action. She retreated back into her bed, her back painfully colliding with the hard wall, and she grabbed her pillow and threw it with all her might at the figure.

The pillow soared through the air, through Mr. Molesley, and crashed into the opposite wall where it fell to the floor with a plop.

“Well, that wasn’t very effective.”

Baxter was breathing heavily, her heart pounding, with a sudden spout of anger lighting a fire under her – and Molesley’s wry comment certainly didn’t help matters. She was out of her bed in an instant, stalking over to where he was still seated.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She spat, voice lowered to a dangerous whisper and eyes glaring daggers. “How did you get in here?!”

“Uh,” Molesley’s eyes were wide and alarmed. “The door?”

She stared at him incredulously. “What if someone saw you? Do you have any idea—,”

“They can’t.” He cut her off, standing quickly and holding his hands up, palms out, in a show of surrender.

“What if—,”

“Miss Baxter, I—,”

“I can’t believe—,”

“Please—,”

“Of all the improper—,”

“Miss Baxter!”

Molesley’s raised voice was what finally made Baxter clamp her mouth shut. She was seething; the unusual wave of anger still bubbling throughout her chest. Her body felt as if it was being held together by a series of faulty wires – one more spark and the whole thing would go up in flames. She stood completely still for a moment, breathing through her nose, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

“I’m sorry.” Molesley’s head was hanging, and when she glanced up at him, he refused to meet her eyes. He looked deeply troubled and Baxter was immediately filled with regret.

Feeling a wave of mortification wash over her, Baxter turned away from him and perched herself on the edge of her bed. The two of them sat in a thick silence for a moment, neither looking at the other, and then she spoke.

“Please don’t be. I’m sorry, Mr. Molesley. You just frightened me terribly.” She glanced up at him from under her lashes, hoping she didn’t look as humiliated as she felt. “My response had little to do with you and much to do with my past.”

With everything else going on it was childish for her to act in such a way. It was just that waking up to see someone in your room that you hadn’t been expecting was alarming. Especially a man…especially because it had happened to her before. But her Mr. Molesley would never let himself into her private chambers for any indecent reason, that she was sure of. Molesley was not Peter Coyle. He never would be. And Phyllis Baxter was not the kind of woman to throw fits or yell – although, she thought meekly, maybe she was precisely that sort of women if the last few weeks were anything to go by.

A unique expression of concern mixed with relief washed over Molesley’s features as he mirrored her actions and sat down in the chair, facing her. “I am, though. Sorry, I mean. I should have known better. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy, I just wanted to be sure I could speak with you as soon as you awoke. Just in case I don’t have long.”

Baxter nodded, and with that nod she chose to put this whole misunderstanding behind them. Straightening a bit and giving him a soft smile, she continued. “I’m grateful to see you, Mr. Molesley. Last night was one of the most frightening nights of my life.” She glanced away quickly, not wanting him to notice the way her eyes were getting misty. “And I would quite like to never relive it again.”

Molesley looked as if he was going to apologize again, but Baxter waved him off and continued on.

“Do you know what happened? You were supposed to wait for me while I dressed Her Ladyship but you completely disappeared.”

“I haven’t a clue,” He shrugged, but he frowned deeply and there was a glint of fear in his eyes. “One moment I was waiting for you outside of Her Ladyship’s room and the next I was standing in the servant’s hall listening to a Christmas carol. I didn’t realize any time had passed until I heard Andy and Daisy talking about me.”

Baxter encouraged him to continue, and he did.

“Daisy was telling Andy about what she’d heard from Mrs. Patmore, who had talked to you.” He recounted, using his fingers to list off the people to be sure he didn’t miss anyone. “It was about how I’d nearly died.”

He looked at her, meeting her eyes with his own terror-filled gaze.

“I don’t want to die, Miss Baxter.”

“I would quite like you to be well again, too, Mr. Molesley,” Baxter’s words were quiet but laced with as much fear as was written on Molesley’s face. “I’ve dealt with a lot of terrible nights in my life, but last night was one of the worst.”

Molesley was on his feet at this point. He had started pacing about the room as a way to deal with his anxious energy, and Baxter simply sat and watched him do it. She may have just woken up, but the weight of the situation was pushing on her shoulders and she couldn’t compel herself to expend any unnecessary energy.

“If I’m laid up in a hospital bed, how am I here right now? How am I talking to you?” His voice was thick, and he ran his hand across his head. “Why can I touch things but not people? Look.” He scooped up the pillow she’d thrown at him earlier and held it out towards her. “I’m holding this! But when you threw it at me it went straight through, just like your hand does. Pardon my language, Miss Baxter, but I’m absolutely buggered.”

Her eyebrows rose at the phrase, but she made no comment. She wanted nothing more than to offer him an explanation and some comfort, but she was just as lost. Maybe this whole situation was some kind of figment of her imagination – or maybe she was just having some truly bizarre and much too vivid dream.

But maybe it wasn’t either of those things. Maybe this was real, and it was some cosmic karma coming for her. After all, Molesley would have never fallen down the stairs if he wouldn’t have been looking at her. If it wasn’t for her, he would be alive – truly alive – and well right now.

“I’ve been thinking,” He continued, pulling her from her rapidly darkening thoughts. “Maybe I can control what I can touch and what I can’t? Andy walked through me with a dinner tray when I was coming up here, before you woke up – sorry again about that – but my point is, I thought we’d collide, and we didn’t. But if I want to open doors or pick up pillows, I _can_.”

Baxter was on her feet then. “Try touching me again.”

His anxious pacing halted, and his eyes widened comically. Baxter barely resisted rolling her eyes, knowing exactly what he had thought. Any other time she may have been embarrassed by the implication, but right now there were much more important issues than her dignity.

“My hand, Mr. Molesley,” She specified, holding it out to him with her palm facing upwards. “Maybe if you concentrate and decide you really want to, you can touch my hand. Why should touching me be any different than touching a pillow or a door knob?”

Molesley’s eyes flickered from her face to her outstretched hand and then he sighed, “Worth a try, I guess.”

His eyebrows pulled together slightly, and Baxter recognized the careful look of concentration as one he frequently wore while pouring over books that interested him. Slowly, he reached out his hand and placed it flat on hers – his palm faced downward to meet her upturned one. The two of them stayed perfectly still for a moment, staring at their outstretched, and now connected, hands.

“Do you feel that?” He breathed.

“It’s warm,” She moved her hand upwards a bit, and it went through his in the same way it had outside during their first meeting. But this time there was something else. “I can’t touch you, but I can feel that you’re there.”

Molesley nodded enthusiastically, “I can tell you are too. I can feel your presence.” And then his features lit up, his lips stretching into a wide smile. “Miss Baxter, I’ve felt so isolated since this started. Just so completely alone. Even though I can’t really hold your hand, this is enough. It is more than enough.”

His eyes were shining with unshed tears and Baxter felt the ever-familiar prick beginning behind her eyelids too.

“I’ve missed you so much, Mr. Molesley,” She admitted. “When you disappeared while I was dressing Her Ladyship, I thought you’d surely pop up and scare the daylights out of me again. But then Dr. Clarkson’s note came…and I was certain you were gone. Really, truly, gone. I was so afraid.”

“You know what’s strange,” He started, his eyebrows pulling together in concentration once more. Baxter gave him an incredulous look and Molesley couldn’t help but let out a short chuckle, knowing exactly what she was thinking. “Well, yes, this can all be described as strange. But I think it’s interesting that I disappeared when I was dying.”

He screwed up his face for a moment, but Baxter just shook her head, saving him the effort of trying to explain the unexplainable. “I know exactly what you mean, Mr. Molesley. Your physical body was failing at the same time your maybe-a-ghost body disappeared.”

“My maybe-a-ghost body?” He gaped at her. “I don’t like that one bit.”

It was her turn to laugh then, “Sorry. It’s sort of how I’ve been keeping things straight in my mind.”

“Do you think there could be something to that, though? That I disappeared when my actual body was dying?”

Baxter tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, unconsciously chewing it as she thought. It would make sense – he had disappeared right before she’d received word on his health scare. Could that be why he appeared and disappeared so suddenly when she’d first spotted him sitting in the servant’s hall?

“It’s hard to say,” She replied after a moment. “Everything about this is hard to comprehend, though, not just the reasoning of why maybe-a-ghost you comes and goes.”

He frowned again at her term but didn’t comment on it. “I heard a Christmas carol. That’s why I came back, I’m sure. It’s my only memory…there was nothing, and then I heard _Silent Night_.”

“ _Silent Night_?” Her eyes widened, “You heard us?”

At his puzzled expression, Baxter pushed on.

“It was your Dad, Mr. Molesley. He was humming Christmas carols. I started to sing along with him when he got to _Silent Night_. I can’t tell you why, I’m a terrible vocalist; but it just felt right at the time. Like something I needed to do.”

“It was you,” His face looked so astonished, and so overjoyed, that Baxter wished once again that she could throw her arms around his neck and hang on with all her might. “I heard you and you brought me back.”

“Well thank Heavens you listened.” Her voice was barely a whisper, and she was surprised that she could get the words out around the emotion that had quickly gathered in her throat. Molesley’s eyes were teary again and Baxter felt her heart pounding.

She was the reason he’d come back, even if the real him hadn’t woken up – he hadn’t died, either. And it was because he heard her. The realization was almost too much for her. She was so happy, and scared, and thankful, and astonished – she wanted to speak, but couldn’t find any words.

As the two of them continued to stare at each other, a sudden idea crossed her mind. She’d thought of it earlier, of Benjamin her old schoolmate, and she’d shrugged off the idea. But now…

“Mr. Molesley. When I first saw you, this you,” She began, gesturing towards him. “It made me think of a boy I went to school with ages ago. He liked to tell ghost stories and said that ghosts get trapped when they have unfinished business. Do you think something like that could be happening to you?”

“But I’m not dead.” He looked puzzled.

“But you are in a coma,” She pressed. “And maybe there’s something holding you back from waking up.”

He groaned, turned away from her, and sunk heavily into the chair. Baxter let her own hand fall to her side, suddenly missing the warmth that his presence caused on her palm. She wished with all of her heart that she could actually hold his hand; she squeezed her own fingers into her palms to try to shake the forlorn feeling from where it had settled in her chest.

“Think about it, Mr. Molesley,” She said after a moment, pushing forward with her idea. “If you were to…to not wake up,” saying the word ‘die’ was too hard, “would you have any regrets?”

Molesley thought for a moment. His lips pressed in a tight line and he rubbed his palms up and down his thighs in a gesture of nervousness or anxiousness, she wasn’t quite sure which one.

“I think I would, yeah.” He finally agreed. “One major regret.”

“That might be it then!” She stepped towards him, feeling a spur of hope. “Maybe you’re stuck in this limbo because you have to face whatever it is. Oh, Mr. Molesley, what if it’s that simple? What if once you deal with this thing, you wake up?”

He paled a bit. “Or I don’t wake up at all.”

“Either way,” She said fiercely, ducking a bit to catch his gaze and then pouring all of her strength into her words. “If you do or if you don’t, you’ll be at peace. You deserve to be at peace.”

He stood up and stepped towards her, then. He hesitated for a moment and then straightened up almost imperceptibly. “Well, alright. If you say it’s worth a go, then I trust you. Miss Baxter—,”

He was interrupted by a knock on the door, making them both spring apart as if they’d been caught canoodling. Baxter looked at him with wide eyes for a moment, horrified she’d be caught with a man in her room and fired on the spot, before she realized the only person who could see him was her. There were silver linings in all things, apparently. Molesley seemed to have the same surge of fear and immediate relief, and they shared a look before she quickly pulled the door open.

It was Daisy, sent up by Mrs. Hughes with a tray. The sight of the younger woman was an unwelcome reminder to Baxter that she had, yet again, been avoiding her duties. After she thanked Daisy for the food and closed the door behind her, she looked at Molesley with an apologetic expression.

“I have to change Her Ladyship for bed,” She wandered over to her bed and delicately sat the tray down, careful she didn’t spill what smelled like a shepherd’s pie. “I want to stay here and keep talking but I feel awful for causing so much extra work for Mrs. Hughes. The Christmas guests have started arriving and I have to pull my weight…they’ve been much more lenient than I deserve already.”

“I understand.” Molesley nodded, but she wasn’t quite convinced that he was truly listening to her. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of the shepherd’s pie for more than a moment since Daisy had arrived with the tray. 

Smiling a bit to herself, Baxter used the knife to halve the pie.

“I don’t have much time until Her Ladyship will be ready to go up, and I still have to change back into my dress and straighten my hair. I’m not terribly hungry, either…Mr. Molesley, would you care for half of this?”

His eyes lit up brighter than the Crawley family’s Christmas tree.

“I haven’t eaten anything in days. I guess maybe-a-ghost people don’t have appetites,” He mused. “I’m not even sure if I _can_ eat it…but ghost or no ghost, I could never turn down one of Mrs. Patmore’s pies.”

Part of Baxter’s brain was screaming that things should not be this easy. She shouldn’t feel content to share space with some sort of specter, even if it was Molesley. But as she watched him take the piece of food she offered, and grin, and look so jovial – she couldn’t imagine being around him to ever be hard.


End file.
